


In Plain Sight

by GalaxyOwl



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-11 16:57:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15320013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyOwl/pseuds/GalaxyOwl
Summary: Aubrey needs a disguise for an upcoming job. Castille knows just the thing.





	In Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

> fatt femslash week: dance/disguise

A soft chime sounds as Castille pushes open the door to the shop. Aubrey follows her inside, making her way through the too-large space, close behind Castille, taking in the rows of satiny dresses and colorful skirts.

The woman sitting behind the counter looks up at the sound. Her gaze lingers on Aubrey for an uncomfortable moment before she returns it to Castille. “Do you need any help?”

“No thanks,” Castille says, “We’ve got this.”

“Just shout if you need something,” the woman says.

Castille leads Aubrey through the store, past the rows of outfits, to a rack at the back full of hats of different makes and fabrics.

Aubrey stares at them a moment, unable to push down her doubt. “Are you sure this is really worth it?”

“Absolutely,” Castille says. She adjusts her own hat. “Trust me. Nobody will look twice, and you can stop worrying about all the questions about what a cobbin’s doing at a fancy Chrysanthemum party.”

Honestly, it’s kind of ridiculous that that’s even a thing Aubrey has to worry about—as if no cobbin could _ever_ be a part of Marielda’s high society. But also, “I don’t get how that’s going to work? Like, won’t they still be able to see my face?”

Castille picks up a small blue hat from the rack and turns it over in her hands. “It works for me,” she says.

“Yeah,” Aubrey says, glancing back at the display. “But…”

“Here.” Castille hands her the blue hat. “Try this on.”

Aubrey takes it from her, and tries her best to put it on. It sits awkwardly on top of her ears, clearly not built for a cobbin-shaped head. (A hat that was built for a cobbin-shaped head would defeat the entire point of this disguise; there was a reason Castille had insisted on dragging her out shopping rather than just let her wear something she already owns.)

“Hm,” Castille says, looking at her. “Maybe something bigger?”

The next one she picks up is gray with blue embroidery at the edges, and this time she doesn’t even hand it to Aubrey, just steps closer and sets it on her head, where its brim immediately flops down and covers her eyes. Castille laughs, then, a gentler sound than Aubrey expects, and as Aubrey reaches up to push the huge brim away she feels Castille tug it up for her, and the room comes into view again. Castille’s hand lingers there a moment, drifting from the hat to the side of Aubrey’s face, the marble of her skin smooth and cool, and something in Aubrey’s stomach twists.

“There,” Castille says, fracturing the silence into a thousand pieces, “it’s perfect.”

“Is it?” Aubrey asks. She steps away from Castille, towards a nearby mirror, and the hat doesn’t fall off or cover her face again but it does slide out of place just slightly, and Castille reaches over and adjusts it again.

Aubrey would complain, would insist that she could do that herself. If it was anyone but Castille. As it is, she lets her.

In the mirror—she was right to think she looked a little ridiculous. The hat is too big; it’s still not built for the shape of her head, and the wide brim feels absurdly large hanging above her body.

“I don’t know...” Aubrey says. Behind her, she can see in the mirror, Castille steps closer to share her view. It’s hard to track the gaze of her stony eyes, but Aubrey can tell after so long working with her (from her posture, from her expression), that she has Castille’s attention.

“We’ll keep looking, then,” Castille says.

***

Aubrey’s tail twitches as she looks around the room full of people. She’s wearing a hat made of a firm, green fabric that’s only _slightly_ too big for her, and she’s still pretty sure there’s no way she and Castille—standing together, off to the side—don’t stand out, but no one seems to be paying them much mind so far.

Anyways, it’s not like it really matters. Ethan and Sige are going to do most of the talking; the rest of them are only really here in case things go wrong, and they need the numbers more than they need subterfuge. Aubrey repeats this thought to herself as she watches Ethan talking to some fancily-dressed woman from across the room. It doesn’t make her any less anxious.

Castille lays a hand on her shoulder. Aubrey freezes.

“Hey,” Castille says from behind her. “Calm down, maybe. You’re making _me_ nervous.”

“Right,” Aubrey says. “Right, sorry.” She forces herself to untense her muscles. Everything is still fine, for now.

Castille steps around Aubrey so that she’s facing her, drops her hand from Aubrey’s shoulder. Castille turns just slightly, glancing towards the great space of the ballroom, and then back towards Aubrey.

“Let’s dance,” she says.

Aubrey’s eyes widen. “What?”

“We’re here, aren’t we? I figure we may as well kill some time.”

She smiles, and holds out a hand.

Aubrey hesitates another moment, and then takes it.

She doesn’t really know how to dance, not like this. Edmund had tried to teach her, once, but that had lasted all of fifteen minutes before they’d both decided it was a lost cause, and Aubrey had gone back to the project she was working on. And cobbin dances were a different thing—movements that included the tail, dance partners that would actually be Aubrey’s height—but even that wasn’t something she’d ever been good at.

Still, she lets Castille take the lead, and it’s easier than she would have thought. Or, if she fumbles the steps a couple times, Castille doesn’t say anything, just smiles at her, keeps a firm grip on her hand. They move with the music, each gentle note an eternity as Aubrey stares up at the careful marble lines of Castille’s face.

She’s never asked what Castille’s story is, how she’s a pala-din who can think, and speak, and make Aubrey’s stomach do somersaults. It doesn’t matter, really.

They dance. They’re still waiting on the signal, still waiting for something to go wrong, but it’s unlikely that it will. Castille spins her around, and Aubrey laughs, and Castille pulls her closer. Closer. Aubrey cranes her head up to look at her as they move, hyper-conscious of the weight of Castille’s hand on hers, of the solidity of her presence.

Aubrey’s hat slides down in front of her eyes, and Castille reaches down and fixes it before Aubrey has the chance to, letting her hand linger on Aubrey’s cheek.

“Castille,” Aubrey says, this time, although she doesn’t know how she plans to end that sentence. Just that the name feels right in her mouth. 

Castille stops dancing, and steps, somehow, even closer. And then they are just standing there, in the middle of the dance floor, looking at one another. “Aubrey,” Castille says, with a laugh.

A loud clattering sounds from the other side of the room.

Past Castille, Sige and Hitchcock have their weapons out. Castille sighs, and steps away, moving towards the chaos. Aubrey stands there, alone, for just another moment longer. Then she pushes up her hat and follows after her.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr & twitter @confusedbluesky if you want to come shout about fatt with me


End file.
